


Veil

by evol_love



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel & Dean Winchester Wedding - 14 February 2021, Episode: s09e15 Thinman, Fix-It, Gay love can pierce the veil of not talking for 6 years and save the day, M/M, Reconciliation, The Ghostfacers (Supernatural), Weddings, a couple minor surprise background pairings have fun with those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29505054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evol_love/pseuds/evol_love
Summary: Not that Ed keeps tabs on anyone from his past life as a paranormal investigator, but he’s about 99% sure he heard through the grapevine that Dean Winchester fuckingdied, so getting a text from him on a random Thursday inviting him to his wedding is in the top ten weirdest moments of his life. And that’s really saying something. Ed’s had weirder weird moments than most.His first instinct isNo, absolutely fucking not, why on earth did you even invite me we’re not friends and we haven’t spoken in six years,but. But.Maybe he misses the weird a little.-------------------------------Ed attends Dean Winchester's wedding. Harry also attends. Which is kind of a bummer.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Harry Spangler/Ed Zeddmore, Minor or Background Relationship(s), past Crowley (Supernatural)/Dean Winchester - Relationship
Comments: 36
Kudos: 123





	Veil

**Author's Note:**

> This is 150% Tierney @katebushstandean's fault. We brainstormed this together and we are MAKING the Ghostfacers Renaissance a reality. 
> 
> Yes this takes place at the destiel Roadhouse wedding. 
> 
> Content warnings for some minor internalized homophobia and references to past trauma, nothing major, this is 95% about the power of gay love.

Not that Ed keeps tabs on anyone from his past life as a paranormal investigator, but he’s about 99% sure he heard through the grapevine that Dean Winchester fucking _died,_ so getting a text from him on a random Thursday inviting him to his weddingis in the top ten weirdest moments of his life. And that’s _really_ saying something. Ed’s had weirder weird moments than most. 

His first instinct is _No, absolutely fucking not, why on earth did you even invite me we’re not friends and we haven’t spoken in six years_ , but. But. 

Maybe he misses the weird a little. 

The details are all there in the text, and there’s no request for an RSVP, so Ed doesn’t bother following up. He might not even go, anyway. He probably won’t. 

\-----

He arrives at the wedding fashionably late, which serves Winchester fucking right for inviting him to a wedding that was only a week and a half away via text. As if he’s supposed to drop everything and drive twelve hours from Wisconsin to some bar in Nebraska? Like, he did, but it’s still super inconsiderate. 

It doesn’t seem to matter much, though; the scene inside Harvelle’s Roadhouse is absolute pandemonium, and one more guy walking in doesn’t seem to catch anyone’s attention. 

Ed’s only been to a few weddings in his life. He had to go to his cousin’s wedding when he was 7, and another cousin’s wedding when he was 13. He barely remembers either of them, other than the annoyance of having to wear a tie and how boring and long the whole thing felt.

He went to Maggie’s wedding two years ago. That had been hard. Not that he isn’t happy for her and Sabrina, and not that a wedding primarily comprised of their roller derby team wasn’t an incredibly fun concept, but something about seeing how easily his sister had managed to go back to normal life and settle into a nice, happy relationship stung a bit. 

Even with a lack of wedding expertise, though, Ed knows this wedding is unusual, not to mention tacky as hell. 

He could have guessed as much between the late text invite and the location, but it’s somehow even worse than he’d imagined. They’ve done nothing in particular to dress the bar up—Ed wouldn’t even know this was a wedding if he was just walking in randomly—but the bar _is_ decorated for Valentine’s Day in garish pink and red crepe paper hearts and strands of Christmas lights. Or maybe those _are_ wedding decorations, maybe Dean’s taste really is that bad. And speaking of taste, Ed still literally has no idea who the man is marrying. He’d opened his text message with “Me and Cas are gettin’ hitched” which is the extent of Ed’s knowledge. 

Looking around for the few familiar faces he has here, Ed processes the broad spectrum of dress code the wedding’s guests have fallen into. Of course most people have made at least a little effort to dress up, which Ed is grateful for considering he’d bothered wearing nice pants and a button up, but there’s also several people wearing jeans and flannels that match the bar’s aesthetic perfectly but don’t necessarily scream “wedding.” And on the other end of the scale, a woman with bright red hair is wearing an honest-to-god floor-length cape over a ridiculously elaborate gown. Ed wonders if she’s the mother-of-the-bride looking to upstage the event. Maybe the evening will be entertaining enough to be worth it after all.

“...Ed?” 

Ed looks up and sees none other than Sam Winchester. He looks way older than Ed remembers—which, yeah, makes perfect sense, it’s just sort of weird to see a physical indicator of the passage of time. 

“Hey,” Ed says lamely. He’s half expecting the man to kick him out, honestly. They’d never been pals at the best of times, and they’d last parted on less-than-pleasant terms. But Sam is smiling at him even if he looks confused. 

“Hey man, long time no see. How’s...how’s it going?” 

Ed shrugs. 

“It’s going,” he says, noncommittal, because like hell is he admitting to _Sam Winchester,_ monster hunter and asshole extraordinaire, that he’s working at a fucking hardware store. Sam nods, looking unsure whether he’s supposed to hug him. God Ed hopes he doesn’t. 

“Good, good,” Sam agrees. Ed can at least appreciate that they’re _both_ flying blind and on autopilot here. “Dean invite you?’

“Yeah.” Ed holds up his phone. “Sent a text.” 

Sam snorts. 

“Sounds about right. He blew up his entire contact list the other night because he refuses to let anyone show him how to use his phone.”

“Oh.” 

“No, no, I’m sure he meant to invite you,” Sam says quickly, in a way that definitely means Ed was invited by accident, but honestly? That’s way better. Crashing Dean Winchester’s wedding is definitely a worthwhile way to spend a weekend. 

“Where is the man of the hour anyway?” Ed asks, craning his neck like Dean’s going to suddenly just appear over the crowd. “I’ve yet to meet the woman crazy enough to marry a Winchester—uh, no offense,” he adds, because Sam is being mostly decent to him right now. Sam doesn’t respond though, and Ed looks up at him to find Sam staring at him with a weird expression on his face. “What?”

“Uh...” Sam says, glancing at the bar. Ed follows his line of sight to see—

“What the fuck?”

“Hey, if you’ve got a problem with Dean marrying a man then you can show yourself out, or I can show you out if you prefer, but I don’t think you’ll like that as m—”

“No—what? Shut up,” Ed says, distracted by the sight of the couple leaning against the bar together chatting with their friends. “That’s. That’s the guy.”

“The guy?” Sam repeats. 

“The guy! He showed up at our headquarters _years_ ago, scared everyone shitless. I mean, not me, I was cool, but everyone else was _freaking out._ He’s _crazy_ , dude, he tried to tell us he was a freaking angel, I don’t know _what_ he is, but—”

“No, he is an angel,” Sam cuts in. “Or, he was. He’s human now...it’s a long story.” Sam frowns. “When did Cas talk to you guys?”

Ed, still barely processing any of that, tries to remember. 

“Jesus, it’s got to have been like a decade ago, easy. Maggie and Spruce were still with us.”

“Why did he...what did he say?”

“He told us we were supposed to like? Witness the apocalypse?” Ed snorts. “I told you dude. Fucking crazy.” Sam looks a little green. “You good man?” After a moment, Sam nods. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Belatedly, Ed’s brain starts catching up with the conversation. 

“Wait, did you think I was being homophobic?” he asks, feeling a little ill himself. Sam has the decency to look embarrassed, though he doesn’t know the half of why that was an insane assumption to make. 

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “It’s just...it hasn’t been easy. For Dean. I’m a little protective.”

What is it about weddings that makes people so sappy? Ed doesn’t even like the guy, and here he is, spilling his emotional baggage. 

“I’m gonna go,” Sam says finally, and Ed nods in acknowledgement as he disappears back into the throng of people. 

So. 

Maybe it makes him narrow-minded, or whatever, but Ed did not see Dean Winchester being gay coming. He also very much does not want to examine the feelings that revelation is bringing to the surface. 

Instead, he’s focusing on Dean Winchester gay marrying the _angel_ that terrorized him and his colleagues years and years ago. It totally makes sense. Of course that’s who Dean Winchester is in love with. Douchebag for douchebag. 

He needs a fucking drink. 

Luckily, a tacky wedding in a dive means an open bar is basically mandatory, so he procures a beer easily. He downs half of it in one go, taking a deep breath before taking another long drink. 

“Damn. Which groom are _you_ here for?” someone asks, sidling up beside him. He turns to see a woman with dark hair and wicked eyes cradling a glass of wine in one hand, watching him in amusement. He has the distinct impression that he’s been chosen as her entertainment for the evening, which he’s not crazy about.

“I’m here for the beer,” he tells her, and the laughter is gratifying even if he doesn’t want to be anyone’s court jester tonight. 

He looks down the bar to where Dean and Castiel (Cas, his brain supplies hysterically) are still standing together, all smiles, Dean’s hand resting gently at the small of Castiel’s back like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It makes something inside him go restless like a wild animal.

“They’re nauseating, aren’t they?” the woman says, clearly following his train of thought as well as his line of sight. “I only had to put up with them for a little while, but they make me want to puke.” 

“I definitely hear that. The angel, or ex-angel, or whatever, certainly made an impression on me and my buddies a few years back.”

“Castiel?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “He’s sweet as a peach, it’s Winchester you wanna watch out for.”

“I’ll drink to that,” he says darkly, finishing his drink and signalling for another immediately. 

“I’m Meg,” she tells him. She’s still watching him, calculating, rather than shaking his hand or something else normal people might do. He wishes he’d thought to tuck his old EMF meter into his jacket pocket; apparently all bets are off with this crowd, if one half of the couple wasn’t even human until recently. 

“Ed,” he replies evenly. 

“Meg, you’re not terrorizing the other guests, are you?” Sam asks, appearing once again at Ed’s side. Meg rolls her eyes and takes a haughty sip of her wine. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she tells him, sickly sweet. Ed cannot even imagine what the history between these two looks like; he’s gathering that every relationship here that is loaded with backstory. 

“When is this ceremony kicking off?” Ed asks, because it’s already beginning to feel a bit like he can check in to Dean Winchester’s wedding but he can never check out. “This looks more like trivia night at a college bar.”

“Weird fucking college,” Meg murmurs into her wineglass. Sam and Ed both ignore her. 

“Ceremony is sort of a strong word, but Rowena’s insisting on presiding over things, and she’s ready to be the center of attention, so I’d say pretty soon.”

A lot of information in that sentence, almost none of it intelligible. 

“ _That_ bitch is running the show?” Meg asks. 

“ _Meg,”_ Sam hisses. “You swore you’d behave.”

“Alright, alright, for my sweet Clarence I’ll put away the claws for the night,” she sighs. “But all bets are off tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Sam grits out. He looks over at Dean, and Ed can almost _see_ his stress headache. 

“So there’s no plan?” Ed can’t help but ask. “What kind of a wedding is this?”

“Oh, this is all pretty strictly for fun,” Sam tells him. “Dean’s legally dead—several times over, actually—and Cas doesn’t even exist according to the government. This is basically an excuse for them to go on vacation after drinking a lot of beer with all of our friends.” 

Ed thinks this over, watching the way Dean and Cas never seem to let go of each other even while maintaining completely separate conversations at the other end of the bar.

“They’re really in love, huh.” 

Sam smiles, the perfect combination of brotherly bullying and genuine affection.

“Yeah. They really are.” Ed gulps down the rest of his drink and slams the bottle back onto the counter.

“Awesome.” He pushes through the mass of people and out the door so he can have a moment to fucking breathe. 

The sun hasn’t completely set yet, but the temperature has already dropped and the sky is all muted grays. He’d never taken his coat off upon entering the Roadhouse, so the chill isn’t so bad. If anything, it’s grounding, helping to get a fucking grip at this absolute zoo of a wedding. He watches as his breath turns into fog in front of him. Inhale, exhale, puff of smoke. Maybe he lets himself think about dragons for a minute, imagines his visible breath is a burst of fire, that he could just strike this place down, strike down anything in his path. It wouldn’t fix anything in his shitty life, but it would feel a hell of a lot better than just standing around letting it happen does. 

“You good?” someone asks, and Ed jumps. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. 

The other guy is standing farther off, almost around the corner, tucked up where the two walls of the Roadhouse meet. It’s still light enough that Ed can clearly see the joint he’s holding. God, this guy has the right idea. 

“Yeah. Just. Crowded.” 

The guy snorts a laugh, takes another hit. 

“Fucking crazy in there,” he agrees. “What is it about Dean Winchester that brings out the party in people? I certainly don’t see it.”

Ed laughs at that, a real laugh this time. 

“Me neither.”

The guy holds the joint up, a clear offer complete with a raised eyebrow. Ed feels like he’s watching a DARE campaign video. 

“Why the hell not,” he sighs, disappointing DARE once again. He draws closer to the guy and gratefully accepts the pot. It’s been awhile since he smoked, but he tries to pass off his coughing fit as more to do with the cold than the weed. The look on the other guy’s face says he’s not successful, but at least he doesn’t say anything rude, even if he really looks like he wants to. “So what are you doing here, if you’re not a fan of the Winchesters?” 

“Technically I could say we go way back and they helped me out of a tight spot, but that’s true of pretty much everyone here, and I’m actually only here because my boyfriend is close with them.” This prompts him to grab the joint back and take a long, long hit. “Which I didn’t even know until it was too late.”

Ed rolls his eyes and mutters, “Is _everyone_ at this wedding gay?” The guy huffs another laugh and Ed adds, “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“No, it’s cool. Kind of funny to have a homophobe at this wedding, actually, keeps things fresh.”

“I’m not...why does everyone keep assuming that?” Ed asks, because it’s getting old and he also really, really doesn’t want to have to correct people. 

Before he can answer, the front door swings open again, a man Ed doesn’t recognize poking his head out and calling, “Aaron?”

“Fuck,” the guy next to Ed—Aaron, presumably—whispers. He hands the joint back to Ed urgently and calls, “Yeah babe?”

“Are you smoking?” the guy calls, walking over to them as the door swings shut behind him. Ed can’t help but laugh, even if the absolute last place he wants to be is in the middle of a domestic squabble at a gay wedding. 

“No?” Aaron tries, and the guy who Ed has to assume is his boyfriend cracks up. 

“What, you weren’t gonna share?” he asks. Aaron relaxes, and Ed does too. “Who’s your friend?”

“Ed Zeddmore,” Ed introduces himself, passing the joint over to him immediately. He grins. 

“Garth,” he replies, shaking Ed’s hand. Finally, a normal fucking person. Garth takes two quick puffs before handing the joint back to Aaron. “You doing okay?”

Aaron groans, slumping over to bury his face in Garth’s shoulder and mumble, “Can we go yet?”

“Dean and Castiel aren’t even married yet,” Garth laughs, turning his head to press a kiss against Aaron’s hair. Ed looks away.

“Oh, right. He’s homophobic,” Aaron supplies, waving a hand in Ed’s direction. 

“I’m _gay_ ,” Ed snaps, feeling slightly insane. His cheeks are hot in spite of the snow around them. 

Aaron actually looks up at that, lifting his head to look at Ed in surprise. 

“Well. You’ve met Dean,” Aaron says after a moment. “They’re not mutually exclusive.”

Ed sighs. 

“Thanks for the weed,” he tells them before heading back inside. 

‘Not his finest hour’ doesn’t even begin to cover what this night is turning into. He looks around and sees Meg has now moved in on a girl with wide eyes and dark red hair, which only furthers his point that pretty much everyone at this wedding is gay and _everyone_ is happily in a relationship. Awesome. Fantastic. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Winchesters had elaborately designed this evening specifically to torment him, because they suck, though why they’d bother when their paths haven’t crossed in years is a total mystery. The point is, Ed is already exhausted by the evening and the actual wedding part hasn’t even happened yet, and all he wants to do is get more drunk and possibly more high too and then go crash at the nearest motel, and maybe never wake up. He beelines towards the bar to start making that vision a reality.

And that, of course, is when Harry Spangler walks back into his life. 

\-----

Harry doesn’t see him. Ed could laugh, he _wants_ to laugh about it, because it's been six years and they’re in the same room and Harry doesn’t even see him. 

Some things never change. 

He barely even registers making the choice to move. One minute he’s standing frozen in the middle of a crowded bar staring at the biggest regret of his life, and the next, he’s slamming the door of the men’s room shut behind himself and trying to catch his breath. 

“Fuck,” he says out loud, just to feel something. “ _Fuck_.”

He’s anidiot for not even considering that Harry would be here too. Frankly, it’s more surprising _he_ was invited than Harry, intentional or not. Harry was the one who left with the Winchesters. Harry was the one who didn’t even look back when he got into their car. For all he knows, Harry and the Winchesters are best buddies now. Maybe he started hunting cryptids with them, since Ed is his real rival now. The enemy of my enemy and all that. 

Ed sticks his hands under the faucet and splashes cold water on his face. He refuses to come unglued at Dean Winchester’s wedding. He’s not making a fool of himself here, and he’s certainly not going to think too much about why it matters that he doesn’t. He’s going to collect himself and he’s going to leave now while he still has a little bit of dignity. 

The bathroom door bangs open and someone storms in. Thunderous enough energy to rival Ed’s own mood. 

“You too?” he hears himself ask sarcastically. The man startles, blinking up at Ed in surprise. 

“What are you doing in here?” he asks. Ed laughs. 

“Oh, just going fucking crazy,” he answers. He’ll have to remember to thank that nice gay couple for the weed before he goes, it’s doing wonders for him right now. 

The man doesn’t laugh, but he looks faintly amused. 

“It’s a nightmare, isn’t it,” he says. He doesn’t appear to be in any rush to actually use the restroom or even to freshen up like Ed had attempted. It seems like he truly was just looking to escape everything, which makes him Ed’s new best friend and closest confidante. 

“What are you in for?” he asks, and the man actually snorts at that. 

“Name’s Crowley,” he says, all business, shaking Ed’s hand like they’re about to exchange info on Linkedin rather than have a collective breakdown in a bar bathroom.

“Ed Zeddmore,” he replies. “Did the Winchesters make your life worse too?” 

“In more ways than one,” Crowley replies darkly. He reaches inside his suit coat and pulls out a flask, taking a hearty swig of it. As he tucks the flask away again, he looks at Ed apologetically. “I’d offer you a drink, because you look like you could use it, but I’m running low as it is and I know for a fact this place doesn’t carry my preferred brand of absinthe.” 

Absinthe, jesus. He could have predicted the guy was pretentious just from the full all-black three-piece suit, but good grief. 

“‘S okay,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m already pretty fucked up.”

“I can see that,” Crowley says, looking at him like Meg had, judgemental and bemused and in no hurry to move on. “What are _you_ ‘in for,’ Ed Zeddmore?”

Ed thinks the question over for a moment. 

“Okay,” he says at last. “Yeah. So I ruined my life for a guy about six years ago. He hasn’t spoken to me since.” Ed nods in the direction of the door, the direction of the party continuing on without them. “And he’s out there right now.” 

Crowley hums thoughtfully. 

“I know the feeling.”

“I’m probably overreacting. You probably think I’m an idiot,” Ed sighs. 

“No,” Crowley says, shaking his head. “I think you’re in love with him.”

Ed sucks in a breath, biting his lip so he can feel the sting of that rather than anything else. 

“Yeah,” he says finally, slumping against the wall and letting gravity take him the rest of the way down to the floor. “I was.”

“Horrible, isn’t it?” Ed looks up at that.

“I mean, I’m over it,” he tries. “I just wasn’t expecting to see him, that’s all.”

“Well then you’re better off than me,” Crowley says, taking another drink from his flask. “At least you have the excuse of walking into an ugly scene on accident.”

Ed winces in sympathy. 

“You’re still in it.” Not a question. 

“And what do you know, that’s the end of my absinthe,” Crowley says cheerfully as he finishes the last sip. 

As satisfying as it was, sinking to the ground was a mistake, because he’s not as young as he used to be and every joint in his body is yelling at him now. He makes a halfhearted attempt to stretch out his shoulders and feels his body complaining in response. So on the floor he stays. 

“I don’t know. Part of me wishes there was more going on, or that there was still something between us worth talking about, because this feels pretty pathetic.”

“No, you’re better off,” Crowley assures him. “Nasty waste of time. Sooner or later he’ll end up marrying someone else at a bar in Nebraska, and then what will you do.”

Ed winces in sympathy. 

“You’re in love with Castiel?” he asks. Crowley just gives him an annoyed look.

“No,” he says primly, like he’s doing Ed a great service in showing so much restraint. Ed honestly kind of wishes he’d snap. At least then this night would be over.

“Dude, _Dean_? Seriously?” Ed can’t help but ask.

“It’s complicated,” Crowley tells him cryptically, which, yeah, Ed’s sure it is, but unfortunately those were also the last words Harry ever said to him, still burned into his brain all these years later, and now either the weed or the booze or both has decided to rebel and make him nauseous. Fucking perfect. 

“Complicated,” Ed repeats, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I know complicated.” 

“Not to mention my— _BITCH_ —mother is running the show out there,” he says, yelling the interjection apparently for her benefit like she could possibly hear her son screaming in the men’s room over the cacophony of the party. Hell, if she’s really that spiteful, maybe she can.

“That’s the worst thing I’ve heard in my life,” Ed tells him. Crowley rolls his eyes.

“Oh, don’t hold back on me,” he says sarcastically. 

“No, okay, listen,” Ed persists. “My bullshit is the definition of ‘complicated.’ I could feel him slipping away from me and I just...panicked. I would have done anything to keep him, and I did, and I drove him away anyway.” And that’s it. That’s the singular truth about the entire debacle. In trying to hold tighter onto Harry, Ed had been the one to push him away. He’d accepted it then, and it had kept him up more nights than he cares to admit, but it never stops feeling like a kick in the gut. 

“Oh, believe me, I understand. At least you didn’t help him become a demon; they’re never grateful for that one.” 

Ed blinks at him for a few seconds, trying to absorb that. 

“Demon?” 

“Former King of Hell at your service,” Crowley tells him pleasantly, nodding in acknowledgement. 

Okay. 

Why not. 

“Former?” he manages. 

Crowley outright scoffs at him, looking balefully at the door again. 

“Never fall in love.”

They sit in silence for awhile—well, Ed sits, Crowley is still standing, leaning against the wall and somehow still managing to look dignified beside the hand dryers. 

“I can go grab more booze?” Ed offers awkwardly. He doesn’t especially want to go back out there and risk bumping into Harry, but he wants to sober up even less. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Crowley dismisses, reaching into another pocket of his jacket and pulling out an entire fifth of Passionfruit vodka. Ed laughs in disbelief. 

“Alright.”

“It’s kosher,” Crowley tells him.

“...Thank you?”

Crowley hands him the bottle and Ed takes it gratefully, uncapping it and taking a generous gulp before passing it back. Everyone here is so liberal with sharing their substance of choice. Ed honestly wouldn’t mind hanging out with some of these people in literally any other setting. 

They pass the vodka back and forth for a few minutes, Crowley letting slip more and more details about his tryst with Dean Winchester. It’s absolutely as messy as Ed would have expected, and involves a number of deaths, which Ed has a whole two seconds of self-righteousness over before he remembers the death toll his own romantic endeavours left behind. Ultimately, though, demon or not, Ed feels bad for Crowley. Like really, really bad. 

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Ed tells him firmly. “You put yourself out there, you saved his _life_ , and it’s his loss if he didn’t want more.”

Crowley doesn’t look convinced, but he smiles at Ed, a wry, corner of the mouth kind of smile. 

“You really are remarkable, Mr. Zeddmore,” he tells him. Ed doesn’t know what to do with that. “Thank you for providing a little sanity tonight.”

Ed nods uncertainly. “Uh, no problem.” Crowley sighs heavily. 

“I suppose we should see if this wedding is actually going to happen,” he says. More than anything else Crowley had said to him in that bathroom, that makes Ed’s heart hurt a little. Nothing worse than still secretly hoping for a lost cause. 

“Yeah,” Ed agrees quietly. “Let’s go.” 

It’s actually cartoonish the way he and Harry literally bump into each other as he exits the bathroom. He’s sure it looks very funny to anyone watching who doesn’t know that it splinters Ed’s heart into a million pieces.

Harry is here. He’s literally inches away from him. Harry is looking at him, can’t help but see him now. For the first time in six years, Harry can’t avoid him, or block him, or just disappear completely, dissolving on the horizon line as a car takes him away from Ed forever. Ed can finally have his last word.

“Oh,” is what he comes up with.

“Ed?” 

If he was less drunk right now, Ed would be looking away. Maybe _running_ away. But as it is, Ed cannot bring himself to break their eye contact. He’s afraid that if he closes his eyes even for a second, Harry will be gone again. He doesn’t know how he knows it, but some core part of him knows this is the only second chance he’s ever going to get. 

“Harry.”

“What are you doing here?” 

“Same as you. Wedding.” 

“Are you crying?” Harry asks. He’s still looking at Ed like he can’t quite believe he’s real. The feeling is very much mutual. 

“Sorry, I’m just really crossed right now,” Ed admits, rubbing blearily at his eye.

“Are you _high_ right now dude?”

“Why aren’t _you_ high right now, dude?” Ed throws back. It’s petulant, but he doesn’t care. This entire evening has been an unmitigated shitshow. 

“Good to know you’re still a mess,” Harry says, and okay, that was fucking uncalled for. 

“I’m fine,” Ed lies. “I’m great.”

They stare each other down a minute more, neither of them sure what to say, or maybe they’re just unwilling to speak. Ed doesn’t really know what’s happening anymore.

“How’ve you been?” he tries. Harry’s frown deepens like the question is confusing. 

“Fine,” he says. More silence. “Uh, I saw Maggie got married.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“What?”

Ed shrugs, already regretting the entire conversation. 

“I know you always...I mean you two...”

“Yeah, in _2010_ ,” Harry says slowly, like he thinks Ed’s an idiot. “I’m happy for her, seriously. She and, uh, her wife look really happy.”

Ed doesn’t miss the way he trips over the words, and it’s that stumble that manages to snap him out of whatever mental break allowed him to fall into small talk with Harry. 

“I should go.”

And he’s going to do just that. He is. He’s going to force himself to walk away and pretend he’s above it all, past caring, he’s going to say goodbye to Crowley and walk out that door and never look back. 

Except Harry glances in Crowley’s direction first and asks coolly, “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh him? That’s Crowley,” he shrugs, faux casual. “Just been hanging out.”

“ _That’s_ Crowley?” Harry asks, looking between them, back and forth and back again. Eventually, he huffs a humorless laugh, the kind he used to make when someone wasn’t taking them and their paranormal investigation seriously. “Of course you’d befriend _him._ ”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ed asks, feeling anger bubbling up in his chest, though whether on Crowley’s behalf or his own he isn’t sure. Harry shrugs, but his expression is a dead giveaway, Ed _knows_ that look, he still fucking knows him and it’s worse than he ever thought it would be. 

“Just that it makes sense you’d become friends with someone selfish and manipulative,” Harry says, and he’ll deny it later, but Ed could fucking cry. 

“I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but Crowley’s been nothing but nice to me,” he spits back. It’s not really a comeback, but it’s what he has. 

“Nice?” Harry laughs scornfully. “‘Nice’ was Sam and Dean helping me out after _you_ betrayed me, and nice was them catching up with me over by the bar and putting the past behind us, and nice was Sam filling me in on the drama with Dean’s ex when I wasn’t in the loop on what everyone else was whispering about. He’s not _nice_ , Ed, and neither are you.” 

“Why don’t you ever bother to listen?” Ed snaps, years and years of frustration boiling to the surface at last. “You just jump to the most horrible conclusion possible and decide that’s the truth and you won’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“What else is there to say?” Harry asks, and he sounds like he really means it. “Crowley turned Dean into a _demon_.”

“To _save his life_ ,” Ed counters. This is actually the argument they’re having. Six years later and Dean fucking Winchester is the focal point of their conversation. Ed could scream. 

“You can’t accept that there could possibly be more to a story than you can see. You used to be open to everything from spirits to shapeshifters and now you’re standing there telling me _people_ can’t be complicated?”

“Complicated,” Harry snorts, a horrible echo of that horrible night so long ago. “There’s complicated and there’s _wrong_ , Ed. What Crowley did was _wrong._ ”

“People can do the wrong thing for the right reasons,” Ed insists. “If they think they’re helping someone.”

“Tell me how fucking with someone and hiding things from them until it’s too late is helping them, Ed, seriously, you wanted me to listen, I’m all ears.” Harry is taunting him now, pushing him to see if he’ll snap in the way only someone who really knows you can. Unfortunately, Ed is in no state to resist rising to the bait.

“Crowley was in love with him!” he yells. Harry’s eyes are wide, and only after he’s felt the weight of his words in the air does Ed realize how quiet the bar had become. 

“ _Jesus,_ ” he hears Crowley say before he heads right back into the bathroom. 

“Right-o!” The redhead he’d seen before, the one in the cape, is standing in the center of the room looking unbothered by the scene Ed and Harry (and Crowley) had caused. “As I was saying, settle down so we can get this show on the road.”

He glances back at Harry, and Harry is still looking at him. He doesn’t look pissed off anymore, but Ed can’t figure out what he _does_ look like. Confused, maybe. Disoriented? Scared, even, which doesn’t make sense at all.

“What?” he asks, but someone nearby shushes them. Oh right. He gets to watch Dean Winchester marry the love of his life now while Harry stands a foot away from him and he has to pretend it doesn’t do anything to him. 

The truth is, it does a lot to him. 

It’s _barely_ a wedding ceremony. He’s certain the woman marrying them, Crowley’s (evil?) mother who is apparently named Rowena, has no actual authority to do so, and he doesn’t recognize a word she says as anything resembling traditional wedding parlance. 

But that kind of makes it worse, actually. It hurts a little more how intimate the whole thing is, the way Dean and Castiel clearly don’t care about anything but each other, how transparently the whole thing is for them and them alone, a commitment to themselves rather than any kind of official. It freaks Ed out, honestly. How can you be so sure of someone? Ed thought he was sure, once. He put everything he had into it, and here he is six years later on the verge of tears at a wedding for someone he doesn’t even like. Harry is _right there_ , and Ed can barely breathe, even now. He never should have come here. He should have left an hour ago. He should have told Harry everything when he still had the chance, if only to make the part of him still clinging to the big lie of “what if” get with the times and move on like everything else. 

He concentrates very hard on not looking at Harry once the entire ceremony. It’s hard when his periphery keeps tricking him into thinking Harry is looking at him. 

The ceremony feels like it lasts an eternity, partly because of how often guests keep interrupting to heckle the couple, but then all at once they’re kissing, and they’re husbands, and it’s over. Ed might not particularly care for either of them, but he can’t deny that things feel electric for a moment. The dullness he feels after isn’t unexpected; he felt it at Maggie’s wedding too. He knows he’s never going to have this. And that’s okay. He doesn’t need it. He has a job and an apartment and a sister that calls him semi-regularly to catch up. He lingers on cryptid sighting forums some nights and gets into heated debates with people on whether or not mothman is out there, and it’s fulfilling in its own way. If he feels lonely some nights, if he wishes he was still with people that would understand why he sometimes talks to a ghost he’s pretty sure isn’t around anymore, if he thinks it might be nice not to have to go to bed alone, well. It’s his own fault. 

With the wedding part of the wedding over, the party around him resumes. It’s as good a time as any to get out of there. 

When he tries to make a hasty exit, though, Harry grabs his arm to stop him. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks. He sounds less angry, less sure of himself. 

“Okay?”

Harry looks around, scanning the people around them. 

“Can we go somewhere else?”

That definitely sets off alarm bells. Is Harry going to like, kill him? 

But he nods and lets Harry lead the way. They settle finally in some back corner of the bar, far enough away from everyone else that they can actually hear each other, and not think too much about anyone else hearing them while they’re at it. 

“Okay,” Ed says again. “What.” 

He can’t make sense of the weird ball of anxiety Harry has become since their blowout. He’s biting the inside on his cheek, worrying his jaw in that absentminded way people thinking through something do. He’ll open his mouth like he’s going to speak and then immediately stop himself, and then go back to spiralling himself out. 

“Harry,” Ed says. Harry stops, blinking like he forgot Ed was even there and staring back at him. “Dude. What is going on?”

“I wasn’t talking about Dean. Or Crowley.”

It takes Ed a second to even pin down what Harry is talking about. Once he gets there, it still doesn’t make sense. 

“Okay...?” 

“Were you?”

“What?”

“Ed, help me out here,” Harry says weakly, and god help him, Ed wants to. He wants to understand Harry again, be on the same page and have his back and drive across the country with him because they want the same thing. Belatedly, Ed realizes he’s sobering up. He’s not sure if that’s helpful or making things worse. 

“I’m listening,” he tells him. Harry exhales. 

“When we were...talking. Before. What did you mean when you said that Crowley was in love with him?”

Ed’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach. 

“Oh,” he tries. He can play this off. He can totally play this off. “Just...you know, I was just trying to get you to understand why he might have been acting irrationally. You know how they say it makes you crazy.”

“They?”

“You know...them.”

“Them?”

Ed groans in frustration. 

“Love,” he says at last. “He went too far and he did shitty things and he got desperate because he was in love.” 

Harry is just looking at him. He’s not talking, he’s not reacting, he barely looks like he’s _breathing._ He’s just looking at Ed like he’s hearing words that aren’t even there. 

He can’t play this off. 

“I’m gonna go,” Ed manages.

“Don’t!” Harry blurts out quickly, reaching out for him. He doesn’t grab him this time, doesn’t even touch him, and Ed looks at his arm outstretched between them, trying to understand. He raises his eyes slowly to meet Harry’s and hopes he doesn’t look as bad as he feels. “Don’t, don’t go.”

Ed laughs at that. 

“You got to leave last time. Isn’t it my turn?” He wishes he could take it back as soon as he said it; it just makes Harry look sad. It doesn’t feel good like he imagined it might. 

“I didn’t know,” Harry says. Jesus. So they’re doing this, then. 

“That was by design,” Ed tells him. 

“Why?” Harry asks, and the fact that he doesn’t understand why is _exactly_ why. 

“Because you kissed Maggie at the Morton House,” he says instead. “And I didn’t even know why I hated it so much until our friend was dead.” 

“You could have said something after.”

“Why? So I could lose you even faster? Do you think I just _forgot_ how you used to talk about Corbett? Or how you used to use cases to pick up girls, even after Maggie?” He waits a moment like Harry’s going to reply to that, but he doesn’t, so Ed pushes on. “Fuck no. You were my best friend and that was fine, that was _good_ , and then suddenly you were just somebody that I used to know.”

“Like the song,” Harry says, nodding. Ed rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah. Like the song.” 

Harry appears to think this over. 

“So what now?”

“Now?”

“Do you...?” Harry looks nervous again, and Ed realizes what he’s asking. 

“Oh my god— _no_ , Harry.” Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise, fuck him. 

“No?” he repeats.

“I don’t know, man, I got over it,” Ed tells him. 

“Right, right, of course, totally,” Harry says, nodding in agreement. He keeps nodding, like he’s on autopilot, like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. Something about it makes Ed feel panicky. 

“I mean, it’s been years,” he adds. He’s saying it to support his case, to further convince Harry how totally completely over him he is, but Harry just keeps nodding at him and Ed feels less convinced himself. “Years.”

“Years, totally,” Harry agrees. Ed swallows. 

“Like, it would be kind of ridiculous if I was still into you,” he tries. Harry finally stops nodding. Ed’s racing heart does not slow down, however. If anything, his throat feels tighter. 

“Why would it be ridiculous?” Harry asks, verging on hostile again. 

“Not that there’s anything—I’m not saying you’re not—I mean you’re—I don’t know what I’m fucking saying,” he says, laughing uncomfortably as he splutters like an idiot. Making a fool of himself for Harry is absolutely nothing new, but it still doesn’t feel great even if it’s familiar. 

“So wait, just to be clear,” Harry says, saving Ed from further embarrassing himself, at least for the moment. “You had feelings for me. Back then.”

“Yeah. We’ve established that,” Ed says, annoyed. This is so pointless. He feels wrung out and sober and ready to go pass out on a hotel bed for the next 24 hours. 

Harry is nodding again. 

“Okay,” he says finally. “Sorry, just give me a second to—” he waves his hand in some vague gesture Ed takes to mean he’s Processing Things. That’s fair enough. 

“I can go.”

“Don’t,” Harry says immediately. Ed nods. 

“Okay.”

Harry presses his hands to his forehead, rubbing his face like that will help him think.

“This is a lot,” he tells Ed. Ed frowns. 

“I literally wasn’t going to say anything, so that’s not my fault.”

“No, of course not, I’m not saying—” Harry cuts himself off, drops his hands. “I think about you sometimes, Ed.”

Ed’s not quite sure what to do with that one. 

“Okay?”

“I think about you a lot, actually. I didn’t see that Maggie got married on her Facebook, I saw it on yours, because your privacy settings are shit and I missed you and I wanted to know what you were doing.” He takes a deep breath, which is how Ed realizes he’s holding his. “And do you know how fucking scared I got before I realized whose wedding it was? When I saw the photos Maggie tagged you in and I thought maybe _you_ were the bride?”

Ed frowns. 

“That’s not really how it—”

“ _Not the point_ ,” Harry says through his teeth, and Ed shuts up. “The point is, it freaked me out and I didn’t even know why. I thought maybe it was just scary to think that you had moved on with your life in ways I couldn’t, that you had forgotten all about me, or that it was weird that something so big had happened to you and I hadn’t even heard about it. We used to tell each other everything,” Harry chokes on his words, a hysterical little laugh coming out. “Or I _thought_ we did, I don’t know. And then _this_ , and _you,_ and I...” Harry shakes his head. “I think maybe I wanted you the whole time and I didn’t even know it.”

To say Ed doesn’t know how to deal with that is a massive understatement. 

“You can’t just say that,” he tries. 

“I’m not,” Harry says, and he sounds sure. 

“What—what am I supposed to do, Harry? What am I supposed to do with that?” Harry steps closer. Ed hates him. He doesn’t. He doesn’t hate him.

“Let me do this,” Harry says, reaching up to cup Ed’s cheek and pull him in closer. 

“Okay,” Ed breathes, and they lean in at the same time. 

Kissing Harry is really fucking nice, even in Nebraska surrounded by strangers that are best friends with their arch nemeses. It’s definitely not how Ed pictured it on the few occasions he dared let himself picture it, but that’s okay, because this is real, and that’s better than any dreams he might have had. 

“Alright, get a room Ed,” a coy voice says, and he opens his eyes to see Meg, who has no room to talk since she’s _clearly_ sequestered her redhead from earlier ( _not_ Crowley’s mom, thankfully) to this corner for the exact same purpose. 

“Bathroom?” he asks Harry quietly. Harry nods. “Bye Meg,” he calls. “Don’t wait up.” Her delighted laugh follows them as Ed pulls Harry away. 

Ed has never really experienced a “walk of shame” before tonight, but he thinks the look Sam Winchester is giving him as he slips inside the men’s room with Harry hanging onto him probably comes close. He can’t bring himself to give a fuck. Screw the Winchesters. 

The moment they’re inside, Harry turns and presses Ed up against the door, kissing him like they haven’t been apart for six years, or maybe like he’s making up for it. 

“Wait,” he gasps after a second, and Harry takes a step back, looking wary. “Harry, what are we doing?”

“Uhhhhh, I thought we were making out in the bathroom at Dean Winchester’s shitty wedding,” he says, and Ed can’t help but laugh.

“It is shitty, isn’t it?”

“So shitty.”

Ed swallows, refocusing on what he’d meant to say in the first place. 

“No, I mean, what is this? I mean, it’s awesome, don’t get me wrong, I just...we can’t just pretend the past never happened. We don’t get to start over.”

“Why not?”

“Because...because that’s not how it works. We’re supposed to move on and keep going.”

Harry looks unimpressed. 

“Yeah, we’ve both been doing a great job with that.” 

“Touché.”

“Look,” Harry says. “Maybe this is kind of crazy. Maybe it’s even kind of stupid, I don’t know. But what I _do_ know is that we are _really bad_ at being apart. So even if we need to work some stuff out, and it’s not perfect, I don’t really care. I’m tired of going solo. I want to get the band back together.” 

Ed smiles; he couldn’t have said it better. 

“Me too,” he says. “Spruce isn’t invited though.”

“Oh, god no,” Harry agrees. “No, this is strictly you and me.” 

Well. Ed can’t help but kiss him again after that. It’s only right. Harry kisses him back happily, and Ed can barely remember why they haven’t been doing this for the past six years. Longer, even. Nothing seems bad enough to have taken this away from them. 

He breaks the kiss suddenly with a giggle, and Harry laughs too.

“What?” 

“Maggie’s gonna _die,_ ” he says hysterically, and Harry groans and leans forward so their foreheads are touching. 

The bathroom door slams against Ed suddenly, and they both jump, moving away from it so whoever is trying to get in can get past them. 

Crowley stands in the doorway, takes one look at the way Harry is still clinging to Ed, and says, “Right. I’m leaving.”

“It was nice to meet you!” Ed calls after him, and Harry cracks up again, laughing helplessly where Ed’s shoulder meets his neck. “This was kind of a disaster of a night, huh?” he asks Harry. Harry nods. 

“Not all bad, though.”

“No,” Ed agrees. Harry lifts his head again and kisses him. Ed could get used to this. 

“Oh my god,” Harry says suddenly. 

“What?”

“We stole Dean Winchester’s anniversary.” They stare at each other a moment before dissolving into more peals of laughter. 

“Good,” Ed says at last, wiping at his eyes. “We deserve it.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” 

Ed smiles at him, biting his lip. He’s not used to getting to just look at Harry like this. He never let himself before. 

“I was gonna get a hotel,” he says carefully. “Long drive ahead of me tomorrow. Care to join me?” Harry grins. 

“Lead the way.” 

It’s probably incredibly obvious what they’ve been up to, but it doesn’t seem to matter; the scene inside Harvelle’s Roadhouse is still absolute pandemonium, and two more guys walking through don’t seem to catch anyone’s attention. Ed flags down Aaron, who’s on the dance floor with Garth, and waves goodbye, feeling significantly warmer towards both of them now. Harry takes his hand so he doesn’t lose him in the crowd, and it’s the best Ed has felt in years. 

So. He still doesn’t like Dean Winchester. But he’s glad he went to the wedding. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought :D
> 
> Oh also a few bonus notes:  
> -the redhead Meg hooks up with is Anna the angel  
> -I just changed Garth's entire lifestory and that's the only reason I didn't tag this canon compliant, just go with it <3
> 
> Find me on tumblr @lesbiantoziers


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